


Amongst the Stars

by lovelyleias



Category: Alien (1979), Alien Series, Alien: Isolation (Video Game), Aliens (1986)
Genre: Bisexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/F, F/M, Gen, I love the Ripleys so much I can't contain it, Mother-Daughter Relationship, This is an emotional mess but so am I so here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 09:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6512557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovelyleias/pseuds/lovelyleias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samuels sets his mug on the counter. It’s still full. Stepping towards the workbench, he extends his hand towards her. “Does that mean you’d like to come to Sevastopol Station?”</p><p>Amanda studies his face, his open hand, the utter sincerity of his eyes. She’s not sure what to make of this man who has never met her, but seems to understand her. This man who has been so open with her, and yet has a secret that she is beginning to guess. Amanda’s experience warns her to be wary, but for the moment, she trusts him. She takes his offered hand and shakes it. </p><p>--<br/>A collection of moments from Amanda Ripley's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amongst the Stars

The full moon sits high and heavy in the sky, bathing the little yard in a pale glow. Lying in the grass, framed by the moon and the sheer height of their apartment building, Ellen and Amanda appear very small. Their heads are pressed together and their limbs are spread carelessly. The dew-soaked grass begins to seep through the fabric of their pyjamas, but neither of them seem to care.

Ellen turns her head, and smiles at Amanda’s expression. Her daughter’s eyes are opened comically wide, as if she is trying to fill them with the sight of as many stars as possible. Ellen lifts her hand and points up at the bright moon. “That’s where I’m from.”

“I _know_ ,” Amanda breathes with near-reverence. Space travel fascinates her. She tells anyone who will listen about the grand space adventures she will have one day, just like her mother (Ellen has begun to wonder if perhaps Amanda has an incorrect vision of what it is an engineer actually _does_ ), and she has often carries around an old book on naming constellations. 

Ellen chuckles, and drops her arm around her daughter. Amanda snuggles closer and presses her face against her mother’s flannel. The spring evening is warm enough, but her nose and and fingers are cold. Amanda’s shirt sleeve rides up to her elbow, and Ellen traces nonsensical patterns on the soft flesh of her arm.

“Hey, sweetheart?” Ellen stills her finger, choosing her next words carefully. Her time off has been so wonderful, she doesn’t want it to ever end, she doesn’t want to leave Amanda for a single moment. “Y’know how I’m going back to work soon? Well, I got a new job. On a new ship.”

Amanda pulls her head back to meet her mother’s eyes. “Really? Can I go see it?”

“Sure. It’s called the _Nostromo_. You’ll like it, it’s bigger than any of the others I’ve worked on,” Ellen takes Amanda’s small hand. “Want to know where we’re going?”

Amanda giggles. “Atlantis!”

Ellen taps Amanda’s nose with her free hand. “That’s not real, silly. We’re going to a planet called Aibell, they’ve set up a colony there, like the kind I was born on. We’re going bring them some supplies that they need so that people can live there safely.” 

“That’s good.”

“I think so, too,” Ellen sighs. “I’m going to be gone for a bit longer than usual. It’s very far away. So far away that we’re going to be asleep for nearly the entire trip.”

Amanda isn’t smiling anymore. “How long, Mommy?”

“Six months, Amy.”

“No,” Amanda buries her face in Ellen’s side. “That’s too long.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Ellen throws her arm around her daughter and rubs circles on her back as Amanda begins to cry. “I’ve got some good news, though. While I’m gone, you’re going to stay with my aunt Kate. She’s stayed here when I’ve been gone before, remember? Do you know where she lives, Amy?”

Amanda shakes her head, her face still hidden in the fabric of Ellen’s shirt. 

“She lives on Luna. You’re going to the moon, baby!” She keeps her voice light and soft, but the words seem to only increase Amanda’s distress. 

“I don’t want to go without you,” she cries, clutching her mother’s shirt with her small hands. 

Ellen bites her lip and wills her voice to stay steady. “I don’t want to go without _you_. But I promise you’ll like Luna. And I’ll be back before you’re seven, that’s not so far away, is it?”

Amanda’s sobs being to slow, but she doesn’t lift her head. 

_This is for her, I’m doing this for her_ , Ellen reminds herself, and kisses the top of Amanda’s head. 

—

Amanda holds onto her mother’s hand as tight as she can. The flight dock unsettles her a little bit— the chaos of people in heavy boots running and shouting and laughing. When she was nine she’d been separated from her mother in a shopping centre. It had been only minutes before Ellen had scooped her up in her arms and chastised her for wondering off, even as panic blazed on her face. Those few minutes had frightened Amanda to the core. It seemed impossible to her that she could feel so alone in a building so crowded with people. She squeezes her mother’s hand, and Ellen— despite being visibly distracted— squeezes back twice.

“Where’s Dallas?” Ellen breathes as she guides Amanda through the crowd. 

“Ripley!” Amanda hears a voice shout from behind them. She turns and sees a scruffy man in a flight suit pushing his way towards them. 

“Mom,” she says urgently, tugging Ellen back. 

“Hey, Dallas,” Ellen turns and greets the man, who returns the sentiment with a nod. Dallas looks down at Amanda and mutters a greeting that is more of a mumble than fully formed words.

Her mother has been working with them for nearly four years, but Amanda is awkward around the _Nostromo_ crew. Their strange use of surnames makes her feel shy and odd about addressing them, so she usually doesn’t. The sentiment seems to be returned; none of the other _Nostromo_ crew members have children, and never seem to know how to act around her.

“What’s the emergency?” Ellen queries tensely, as they walk towards the _Nostromo_ ’s dock. “We’re taking off next week, I don’t have time to be running around here.”

Dallas stops and folds his arms. “The hyper sleep chambers are being refitted. They want us to add some mineral ore to the cargo from Thedus. They’re worried the weight will fuck up the chambers.”

“Watch your mouth, Dallas,” Ellen warns. “The last thing I need is Amy adding that to her vocabulary.”

“Right, because it’s all colouring books and cartoons at your place?”

Ellen shifts her body slightly to hide the rude gesture she shoots at Dallas, but not before Amanda sees. Her mother is smiling a little, though, so she can’t be too mad.

“This seems excessive,” her mother sighs. “We know the refinery is huge, I can’t imagine adding to it would make a difference.”

“Yeah, well, they’re being nice enough to not want us to freeze to death on the way home.”

Amanda flinches. Ellen shoots Dallas a foul look, and kneels down to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Captain Dallas is just joking,” she says, her eyes searching Amanda’s face. She presses her calloused hands on Amanda’s soft cheeks “Hyper sleep is perfectly safe when when done right. And we’re professionals. Understand?”

Amanda nods, and Ellen lets her go. Dallas clears his throat and walks towards the ship, clearly uncomfortable, but neither Ripley pay him any mind. 

“Come on, let’s get this done,” Ellen takes Amanda’s hand once more and they walk towards the ship. “We’ve both got a lot of packing left to do, huh?”

—

Amanda sits on the floor of the empty living room and tries to picture the way the apartment had once looked. _There_ , that was where the bookshelf had been. It had been an eclectic mix of her mother’s classic novels and her own middle-grade books. She’s not sure what happened to her mother’s belongings, but her own things have been boxed up and put on the ship. _There_ , that was where the guitar had once leaned. Ellen would pluck at every so often. She had shown Amanda how to play a few songs. Neither of them had been exceptionally talented, but it had been wonderful to listen to her mother play the songs she had taught herself, and sing them softly into Amanda’s ear. She had packed it on the _Nostromo_. _There_ , that was where Ellen’s bed had been, the bed Amanda had been _born_ in. 

She can hear the voices of the adults in the kitchen. Her great-aunt is very loud, and she’s laughing at something that one of the lawyers or the Weyland-Yutani executives has said. Amanda hugs her arms around her knees and squeezes her eyes shut. She never liked staying with Kate, and the thought of living with her forever makes her want to be sick. She clambers to her feet and paces around the room. It always felt so small, but with the furniture gone, it feels so different from the room she did her homework and watched television in. There’s a mirror still hanging on the wall, and Amanda catches a glance of her reflection. Her face is red and swollen from crying. She doesn’t recognize the exhausted reflection in the mirror; the girl with eyes that look older than twelve. She’s spent the much of the last year and a half in a state of tentative optimism, since her mother was declared missing. But now Ellen had been declared dead, along with the rest of the crew, and Amanda can hardly bear it.

She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. She tries to smell everything she associates with the scent of her mother: coffee breath and cigarette smoke and a little bit of sweat. Nothing. It’s gone. She brushes her fingers against the beige walls, feeling every bump and crack in the wallpaper. She thinks of breakfast before school, of her mother drinking black coffee and reading both their horoscopes from the newspaper. She thinks of Kate’s apartment on the moon, with it’s chemical smell and shiny white floors. She thinks of the boarding school pamphlets on Kate’s kitchen table. She wants to stay in the apartment. She wants to stay on Earth. She wants her mother.

She thinks of Ellen kissing her cheek and pulling her into a tight hug. _“I’ll be back before your eleventh birthday. Don’t miss me too much, baby.”_

When she opens her eyes, a glint from across the room catches her eye. A key, her apartment key, set upon an overturned box. She had seen one of the lawyers open the door with it. She knows they have copies, they surely won’t miss one. She lunges towards the box and grabs the key. The metal is cold in her hand, and the rubber grip presses uncomfortably into her palm. With a start, she realizes the dress Kate made her wear to the meeting doesn’t have pockets. She grasps at her throat, where a plastic butterfly charm hangs on a silver chain. With steady fingers, Amanda removes the chain and tosses the charm down the hallway. No one will notice it for ages. Eagerly, she slides the key onto the chain and fastens it back on, tucking it beneath the neckline of her dress.

Kate pokes her greying head around the kitchen door almost instantly. “Everything alright, Amanda?”

“I’m fine,” she replies with a nod, nearly truthful. Kate nods and disappears back to the meeting. Amanda slides down to the floor. She presses her palm against her chest, feeling the key warming against her skin. She pictures Ellen sitting on the edge of her bed, guitar in hand. She pictures herself sitting there, too, listening to her mother play. 

_“You are my lucky star. I saw you from afar. Two lovely eyes, at me they were beamin', gleamin’. I was star-struck…”_

—

Kate passes away when Amanda is seventeen. Amanda mourns her a little, but her feelings are aggravated by her lack of sadness. Her great-aunt had treated her pleasantly, and had been good enough to take her in, but their bond had only ever been blood.

She leaves the moon and moves to a space station on the outskirts of the Core Systems, one of the last places to receive a transmission from the _Nostromo_. She trains in mechanics and engineering, and is hired by the Company for contract work. The pay is shit, but Amanda impresses her superiors. She is unsettled, at first, at being addressed only as _‘Ripley,’_ a designation that takes her a while to adjust to. She takes long haul jobs every so often, but prefers to stay on station in case news on her mother emerges.

Over the years there are people who try to heal the wound in her heart. She stays with some of them for a while, (like the girl from the Academy who had lived on twelve different planets, who wrinkled her nose when she laughed, who sighed when Amanda kissed her) but others she knows only briefly (like the boy who she had done a haul with, who sang as he worked, who smiled as he ran his hands through her hair).

She always leaves them when they are at their happiest. 

_Love_ , she reminds herself, _is synonymous with loss._

Best to break their hearts before they can break hers.

—

Information on the _Nostromo_ is hard to find. Much of it is redacted and the contact information of the crew’s family members has been erased. After deep research, Amanda finally is able to get in contact with Joan Lambert’s brother, Scott.

“It’s a goddamn cover up,” he insists angrily on their video call. “Wey-Yu is embarrassed by it, so they keep their mouths closed. Hardly anyone even knows that the _Nostromo_ ever existed.”

Amanda keeps digging. She discovers with discomfort that six of the crew members had committed infractions or violations of Company policy. A coincidence, perhaps, but a noteworthy one. She does not find any information on the seventh.  
—  
_June 7th, 2133_

_Dear Miss Ripley,_

_As it has been made clear to you on several occasions, you do not have the clearance to contact Weyland-Yutani upper management for personal matters. If resources were available, the USCSS Nostromo would no doubt be sought after. However, the loss of the Nostromo cost Weyland-Yutani $42 million, a debt that has generously not been passed on to the families of the deceased. We simply do not have the ability to take further action. I must also remind you that you are an employee of the Company, and therefore you must act as a Weyland-Yutani ambassador in your daily life. Unfound accusations will not be tolerated, if continued._

_Sincerely,_  
_Vera Reeves, Esq._  
_Weyland-Yutani Corporation_  
_Legal Department, San Francisco_  
_“Building Better Worlds”_

—

Amanda takes a long, slow breath and turns back to the Company executive.

 _“Me and another exec_ ,” he— Samuels— had told her. “ _And you, if you’re willing_.” 

A chance to answer questions she’s had for a decade and a half. But Weyland-Yutani had kept those doors closed for so long.   
“Why?”

“I’m not sure I understand your question.”

“The Company has never given a shit about me or about anyone who was on the _Nostromo_. Why are they starting now?”

Samuels pauses, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. He sips it oddly, hardly tipping the cup, his lips closed around the brim. _He's faking_ , Amanda realizes. When he looks back at her, he doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “Weyland-Yutani cares about the well-being of all of its personnel.” 

Amanda looks down at the welding mask on her work bench. Her reflection is blurry when she stares down at it. The practised way Samuels recited his words makes her nauseous. Angry tears prickle at her eyes. 

“You’re not…” Amanda stutters and takes a moment to steady herself. She touches the key hanging at the hollow of her throat. “You’re not supposed to get pregnant while under Company contract. My mother was given shit for it, and had to go right back to work after I was born. She tried to get maternity leave, and they said no. She’d been working for them since she entered the Academy, but they wouldn’t lift a finger. So she sued them. And they suspended her without pay. When she got back, she sued them again, and won. She took her mat leave when I was seven and under the condition that she would join the _Nostromo_ ’s crew. And she did, and they didn’t come back. They fucked her over, again and again, and now she’s gone. They don’t talk about anyone who was on the ship, because they don’t fucking care.”

Samuels stares at her for a moment, lines furrowed into his smooth forehead. For a moment, Amanda’s regrets her outburst. Will he retract the offer? Is she going to lose her job? 

“I haven’t been entirely forthcoming.” Samuels’s lips twitch with the beginnings of a humourless smile. “I believe their interest in the flight recorder is more monetary than personal. However, considering your… involvement with this case, I personally asked my employers if I would be able to invite you to join the EVA team.”

“Really?” Amanda stares at him for a moment, speechless and confused. “I…Thank you.”

“I can’t imagine what for.”

“For being honest. And for… fighting for me.”

“It’s the least you deserve,” Samuels sets his mug on the counter. It’s still full. Stepping towards the workbench, he extends his hand towards her. “Does that mean you’d like to come to Sevastopol Station?”

Amanda studies his face, his open hand, the utter sincerity of his eyes. She’s not sure what to make of this man who has never met her, but seems to understand her. This man who has been so open with her, and yet has a secret that she is beginning to guess. Amanda’s experience warns her to be wary, but for the moment, she trusts him. She takes his offered hand and shakes it. 

“Yes. I would.”

—

Amanda slips into the the _Torrens_ ’ kitchenette, seeking a cup of coffee. Nina Taylor sits at the table, a book open on her lap. She smiles tiredly at Amanda before turning back to her reading. Amanda lets out a soft greeting and opens the cupboard. She picks a mug and slides it into the machine, holding the button on the side until it comes humming noisily to life. After choking her coffee with cream and sugar, Amanda takes her drink and heads towards the table. Taylor, she notices, has yet to turn a page. She takes a seat at the table, an idea slowly creeping into her mind.

Taylor doesn’t look up from the book, and runs her hands through her hair. Her fingers tremble.

Amanda takes a sip of her coffee, peering at the other woman over the rim. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she says gently.

Taylor catches Amanda’s eye and blushes at being caught out. She sets the book on the table, surrendering. Amanda casually slides closer. “That’s easy for you to say, Ripley. I’ve never been on the other side of an airlock.”

“You might even like it,” Amanda brushes Taylor’s knuckles with her fingertips. “It’s beautiful out there. Peaceful.” 

Taylor’s blush deepens, and she pulls her hands back. She rises to her feet, tucking her book under her arm. “I should go and speak to the Captain. There are some questions I have for her before we’re put under.”

Amanda stifles her disappointment as Taylor flees by taking a long drink from her mug.

“That wasn’t very nice,” an amused voice says from behind her. Amanda turns her head, surprised that she didn’t hear Samuels enter the opposing hallway that Taylor had exited from. Christopher, he told her the previous day, was his _given_ name. She wonders if his emphasis had been intentional. 

He has been kind to her over the two days she has known him. He sought her to for the mission originally, and had since been attentive to her questions; interested in what she had to say. It is an unfamiliar experience, being validated by someone seemingly without an agenda. She wonders if she should thank him, but can’t figure out what she would even say.

“I was going to try and help her relax,” she tells him, instead. “She’s afraid of EVA.”

“I think you may have increased her anxiety,” Samuels chides, settling into Taylor’s empty chair. His lips twitch upwards; he’s teasing her.

“I have that affect,” she admits dryly. 

“She’s used to the professionalism of offices,” he muses. “Flight crews are much more… intimate with each other.”

“Intimate?” Amanda raises an eyebrow. 

“You know what I mean.”

“Oh, I do,” she wonders if she should test her theory, or if she’s crossing a line. “I’m surprised that you know.”

He meets her eyes, looking curious and perhaps a little nervous. Perhaps a little inviting. “What do you mean?”

“Are you going into hyper sleep?” She evades. 

“I might,” he admits. He pauses. “But I don’t need to.”

She leans back. Ah. There it is. “You don’t need to sleep?”

“No,” he looks down at his hands. “It isn’t necessary for me. It is however, technically possible.”

“And would it be rude if I offered you a coffee?” Amanda thinks about the way he had held his drink two days prior.

“I’d appreciate the offer, but it would be a waste,” his smile is a little bashful. “So, you… did you know I was synthetic from the start?”

“It was just a theory, at first,” she answers truthfully. “You’re very convincing.”

His smile grows. “That’s very kind.”

She shrugs and drains her cup, and pushes herself off the chair. Samuels watches her with interest, but makes no move to follow her.

“I’m going to go shower before we go to sleep,” she runs a hand through her hair. “Those chambers are so cold.”

“Ripley,” he says her name quickly, before she can leave. “From what little I was able to gather on the files I was given, your mother… well, she seems like someone I would have been honoured to know. I hope that this mission provides you with answers.”

Amanda’s lips part. Words form and unravel at the tip of her tongue. She walks towards him and hesitates, before clasping him on the shoulder. “Sweet dreams, Samuels,” she exits the way Taylor had gone.

When her footsteps fade, Samuels rubs his face with his hand and shakes his head. “The same to you, Ripley.”

—

Amanda glares at Waits with her jaw clenched defiantly, barely listening as he yells at her.

“My men died setting up those traps, those lockdowns, and you took them all down because they were in your goddamn way,” he shouts, saliva misting her face. 

“You blocked all the exits,” she fires back, taking a step towards him. “I read the logs, Waits, those people died cursing your name. They’re dead because you’re a fucking coward.”

Amanda hears Ricardo take a stifled gasp behind her.

Waits steps forward, his face red with anger, and points a finger in her face. “Listen here, you ungrateful—“

“Ripley,” Samuels interjects hurriedly. “Taylor needs help, right now.”

Amanda doesn’t flinch from Waits’ accusing gaze. “I’m coming. We don’t leave our people behind.”

—

“Ripley? Hey, Rip?”

Amanda turns around the hallway, quickly. She’s clear, for now. “Ricardo? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah. I mean, you know. I just wanted to hear your voice, make sure you’re alright. I’m… I’m scared, Rip.”

Amanda presses herself against the wall, moving as quietly as possible to compensate for her whispered answers. She should be angry at Ricardo for making her risk her position, but she is grateful for his presence on her radio. “So am I. We’re going to make it to the end, I promise.”

“This might sound awful, but I’m glad you’re here, Rip.”

She smiles. “Back at you, Ricardo. Now, I’ve got to go. Samuels is around here somewhere.”

 

—

She staggers through the twisting corridor in Seegson Synthetics, her vision blurred dangerously by tears. Stumbling, she crashes her hip onto a table, causing it to clatter loudly to the floor. A Working Joe rounds the corner, drawn by the noise.

“Something amiss here,” it drones. 

“Fuck off,” Amanda practically pleads through gritted teeth. She pulls out her revolver and fires a single shot, clipping the Joe in the side of its head. It stumbles backwards, and she pushes past before it comes back to its senses. She crosses the room and slides the floor vent open, climbing in as hot tears stream down her face. But she keeps moving.

Samuels had given up so much for her, he had died for her. Very few people in her life had shown her kindness, and yet he had sought her out for the mission, knowing only the information in her file, because he was a caring person, much better than so many of the humans she has known. 

“ _I wanted Amanda Ripley to have closure_.”

“Oh god,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

She reaches the end of the vent, and climbs through to find herself in a cavernous room. Long tables fill the space, and chairs are thrown in disarray. A cafeteria, perhaps. She takes a tentative step in, and gasps. One of the expansive walls is entirely papered with photographs, long-dead flowers and hand-written notes. Stuffed animals and candles burnt down to the wick are set up in clusters underneath the chaotic mural. 

A memorial.

An accusation has been spray painted in violent, jagged letters across the middle.

 _SOMEONE KNEW_.

She creeps closer, scanning the captured smiles that paper the wall. On the edges of the memorial, where the wall shows through, names had been scrawled in thick marker by various hands. Clearly the time for putting effort into memorial had passed, though remembrance had not. Her fingers trail down the list of the dead, until she spots the permanent marker on the floor. 

In his last moments, Samuels had been grateful to her. Because she had shown him respect, because she had cared about him, because he knew that she would mourn him. 

She crouches and retrieves the marker, letting the cap fall to the ground. She writes his name slowly and purposely; _CHRISTOPHER SAMUELS_. She hesitates and scrawls a small, simple message underneath:

 _Thank you_.

—

Amanda screams as she’s whirled through the vents. Her fingernails grasp at the metal shafts as the creature drags her down with dizzying speed. She feels a nail rip off as she hopelessly tries to find purchase in the steel. _Not like this, oh please, not like this._ Claws dig into her legs and her screams are of pain and rage. The monster veers down a vent and she smacks her head against the edge of the corner. Losing consciousness is a relief.

And then—

_“Amanda.”_

What is that? That is her name. Her name, spoken by a voice that whispered it like a secret, like a prayer.

_“You are my lucky star.”_

She knew that song. She knows that song. She remembers watching all of those old, old movies, leaning against her mother as Ellen mouthed all the lines to the television. 

_“I saw you from afar.”_

She should open her eyes, she should wake up, she should run, she should—

_“Two lovely eyes, at me they were beaming, gleaming.”_

Her eyes won’t open, her mind is clouded. Her legs hurt. Her head hurts. Everything hurts. _I’m going to die here, Mom, I’m the only one left, I don’t want to die, please—_

_“I was star-struck.”_

There is a weight pinning her down. A wave of nausea passes down her body, and bile rises in her throat. _Oh please, I’m so tired, I just want to rest, I want to—_

_“You are my lucky star.”_

What was that? Screams, echoing in the distance. 

_“You know I saw you, baby, from afar.”_

In a daze, she wonders if she should stay still. If she should wait patiently for her turn to die. It can’t be far off.

_“Two lovely eyes, at me they were beaming, gleaming… Amanda.”_

Her name, again. That wasn’t part of the song.

_“You know I was star-struck… It’s time to wake up, sweetheart.”_

Her eyelids flutter. 

_“You are my lucky star.”_

One step at a time. All she has to do is open her eyes, and maybe they’ll stay that way.

_“I saw you from afar.”_

Whatever is pinning her to the wall is hard and sticky. She is a fly caught in a spider’s web. 

_“You are my lucky star… wake up, Amy!”_

Amanda’s eyes open wide and she lets out a horrified cry. Oh god, another nest. A man’s body lies beneath her, and those horrid eggs are scattered around. Some are open, but others aren’t, but she doesn’t know which is worse.

_“In my imagination, I saw a star-lit sky so bright.”_

She has to get out, she has to escape. With a groan, she pushes her arms against the horrid substance immobilizing her. Slowly, slowly, it gives. 

_“In my imagination, there I saw you in the night.”_

The web cracks, and mercifully, Amanda falls to the ground.

 

—

She had a choice, in the end. Die in the jaws of the monster, or die quietly and alone. She floats before the gas giant, and her eyes begin to close. _Is this what it’s like to drown?_ There are worse ways to die than to be lost peacefully amongst the stars. Her head feels so heavy and she begins to shiver as the cold creeps into her bones. As her vision fades, she sees light blast across her helmet.

A ship?

Her eyes roll back.

—

Her thoughts float slowly through her mind. She’s in a bed; a hard mattress digs into her back. There’s an IV hooked into her wrist. The lights in the small room are dim, but Amanda blinks slowly. She notices a figure sitting beside her, who shifts as Amanda wakes.

 _Mom?_ Amanda wonders for a stupid moment.

"Welcome back, Ripley. We were starting to think we'd lost you.”

Amanda’s eyes settle on the speaker. “Verlaine?” 

The captain has dark circles under her eyes and her arm is in a sling. But she’s there, oh god, she’s alive.

Amanda's tongue lies heavy in her mouth and her throat is painfully dry. "I'm still here." She croaks. "I thought you were dead." With those words, memories come pouring into her mind: Waits, lying broken and bloody; Samuels, slumped over and silent; Taylor; her neck at an impossible angle; Ricardo, left behind with a monster curled around his face. Even Marlowe, unconscious and left to go down with his ship.

"I lost them, Verlaine," Amanda croaks. "They're all dead."

“I know,” Verlaine looks down. ”That thing got Connor, too, before we could get off the _Torrens_.”

Amanda wants to ask how she was rescued, how Verlaine escaped, where they are now. She wants to tell Verlaine about the flight recorder, about what her mother did. But black spots dance in front of eyes, and a fog cascades over her thoughts again. She hears Ellen’s recorded voice in her ear.

_“We just couldn’t risk bringing that thing home with us. I needed to protect you.”_

“She destroyed it,” Amanda slurs, her head rolling back onto the pillow. “She did it for me.”

Verlaine says something in response, but Amanda’s eyes close and she is pulled under once more.

—

She blinks herself back to awareness a short time later. There is a woman in a lab coat adjusting the bags of fluid connected to Amanda’s wrist. She looks down at Amanda, her eyes widening. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” the woman frowns, pulling her blonde braid over her shoulder. “You should try to get go back to sleep if you can.” 

Amanda is exhausted, but the thought of sleeping more disgusts her. She attempts to sit up, and grits her teeth as pain sears through her chest. She cries out, her heart racing, picturing Foster’s bloody corpse, picturing those bodies on Sevastopol torn apart from the inside. 

“Oh, fuck,” Amanda gasps, pressing a horrified hand against her chest. The machine hooked next to her bed starts to beep wildly. 

“Careful!” The other woman cries, attempting to push her back down. 

“Get me out!” Amanda screams. “You have to throw me off this ship!”

“Stop,” the woman insists frantically. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Kill me,” she pleads. “Or everyone will die.”

“Your ribs!” The woman pins Amanda to the cot by her shoulders.

“What?” Amanda’s breathing begins to settle, even as her eyes spin around the room wildly. 

“You have three broken ribs,” the woman snaps. “Amongst other things.”

Amanda pants out a harsh laugh. “Oh, fuck me. Jesus Christ.”

“I can increase your morphine, you’re on a low dose as it is.”

“No, no,” Amanda insists. “I’m sorry… I thought… never mind.”

The woman lets her go slowly. “Don’t do that again.”

“I thought… I thought there was something else.” She touches her chest gently, and feels the tender area. “I’m Ripley, by the way. Amanda Ripley.”

"Nice to meet you, Amanda," the woman replies, still looking concerned. "I'm Dr. McClaren. Please, call me Holly.”

—

They’re on an Earthbound commercial ship, she learns, called the _Moonstone_. She’d been picked up and put in hibernation for two weeks, but had been pulled out two days earlier, when it seemed likely she’d survive. 

Three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, a concussion, mild hypothermia and countless superficial wounds. It had been trauma and shock, that had worried Dr. McClaren and the other medical staff. Amanda isn’t fazed by the list of injuries she has acquired, too distracted by the concept of being alive.

McClaren— _Holly_ — asks her how many times she hit her head, and Amanda feels a chill of fear when she realizes she can’t recall. 

“You’re lucky,” Holly says with a smile, looking at x-rays from the _Moonstone_ ’s small clinic. “Your head wounds won’t leave any lasting damage.”

“I’ve got a thick skull,” Amanda jokes weakly from her cot. 

She’s released from the medical bay just over a week after waking. She’s put into the economy-class dorm, where Verlaine had been staying. Their roommates believe them to be the traumatized last survivors of Sevastopol’s accidental fall into KG-348. Neither woman corrects them. 

Amanda and Verlaine are quiet when around the other passengers. But in the night, sheltered by the darkness of the dorm, Amanda whispers the truth into Verlaine’s ear. They form a plan based on one crucial thing: Weyland-Yutani can never know.

“Those bastards wanted the creatures, and they murdered everyone on board to try and get them,” Amanda says fiercely. “If they know we saw them, we’re dead, too.”

They rehearse what their story will be upon reaching Earth: Samuels, Taylor and Connor went aboard the station, while Verlaine and Ripley stayed on the _Torrens_. The EVA team did not return. As the station fell, the two of them were rescued from the ship by the passing _Moonstone_.

The lies taste terribly sour on Amanda’s tongue, they seem like a disservice to her mother’s memory, of the life Ellen had given up for her. But she practises lying, and is worried enough to make up a schedule to account for every moment of the false day.

As her body and mind begin to heal, Amanda finds herself drawn to Holly McClaren. The young doctor is clever and manages to coax a laugh out of her every so often. 

Holly has worked on the _Moonstone_ for nearly a year, and takes Amanda on frequent tours, insisting that distractions will help her. On one walk, they find themselves in a recreation room. A guitar rests on a stand in the corner, and Amanda can’t help but wander towards it.

“Do you play?” Holly asks curiously.

“I used to, a little,” Amanda touches the strings. “My mother did.”

Perhaps it was the mournful tone of her voice, but Holly steps forwards and takes Amanda by the hand. Amanda turns to her, her heart in her throat. She squeezes Holly’s soft hand with her calloused one. And then she tells her everything.

—

The _Moonstone_ lands in Tokyo a month later. Verlaine leaves almost immediately. 

“I’ve got to get a new ship, start a new crew,” she says bitterly. “And then I’m going to fly out until I find a system that isn’t touched by Weyland-Yutani.” 

To Amanda’s surprise, Verlaine asks if she’d like to come. 

“Thanks,” she replies, shaking her head. “But I think I’ve got a job offer from the _Moonstone_. They don’t have an engineer in residence, and they’ve asked me if I’d like to stay.”

Verlaine nods. “Best of luck, Amanda.”

“You too, Diane,” Amanda wonders if they’ll ever see each other again. She hopes they will.

Amanda turns and walks along the terminal towards the ship. She’ll have money in her account soon, the Company will have no choice but to pay her for the mission. She can buy sleeping quarters on the _Moonstone_ and work her way back up. She sees Holly waiting for her the gate, and she smiles, knowing she made the right choice.

—

They stay on board the _Moonstone_ for years. Amanda rediscovers what it is like to have someone caring and consistent in her life.

She is not surprised when Holly kisses her.

She is not surprised to find that she has fallen in love for the first time.

—

They get married. They get a cat. They eventually settle in a tiny Wisconsin town and buy an out-of-use farm house.

 _I am part of a family_ , Amanda realizes with delight, as she writes her name as _Amanda Ripley-McClaren_ for the first time.

She thinks of her mother frequently. She thinks of Sevastopol nearly as much. She has dreams of falling through stars, of cold synthetic hands wrapped around her throat, of monsters hunting her like prey. She wakes from these dreams, screaming and sick. Holly will hold her and reassure her, but there are some things that can’t be fixed. Amanda’s dreams aren’t figments of her imagination, they are memories. It’s often in these moments that she thinks of Samuels. She’s not sure if she ever found closure, but she thinks she might have found a strange little kind of happiness. 

—

She smiles at each strand of grey that threads through her hair, at each fine line that curls down her face.

 _I made it_ , she thinks, staring into the bathroom mirror. _I won._

One morning, wakes up early and kisses her half-asleep wife on the mouth before getting her bag and heading out the door. She doesn’t do much of the grunt work at the workshop anymore, but someone has to supervise those young and cocky mechanics. But first, she has an appointment.

She enters the clinic early, but the doctor is already waiting for her, her file opened in his lap. He motions for her to sit and looks at her with his lips pressed in a thin line. “I’ve been reading your file. You’ve spent extensive time in open space. And around a gas giant, too.”

She frowns and touches the key that still hangs from her neck. “Yes?”

He closes his folder, and looks her head on. “I’m afraid I have some unpleasant news.”

—

Ellen Ripley wakes up two years after Amanda dies. She finds that her daughter is gone, but there is another girl who needs her now. Newt might cling to her relentlessly, but Ellen holds on just as hard. 

“Did _you_ ever have a baby?”

Ellen shifts on the bed, meeting Newt’s gaze, so unnervingly serious for a child. She pictures Amanda as she saw her last: eyes wide and watering, with her hair tucked solemnly behind her ears. She thinks of Amanda in Burke’s photograph: aged and laughing. Surely, someone with a smile so lovely had to have lived a good life.

“Yes, I did,” she says with a smile, leaning closer to Newt. “I had a little girl.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I had a whole bunch of ideas for Amanda-centric stories, so I decided to pick at a few of them. I've used a lot of canon material as reference, including the books and the Nostromo dossier (ie, Ellen's mat leave situation). The scene between Ripley and Taylor is reference to Ridley Scott's idea about casual relationships in space (originally, Ripley Sr. sought out Dallas for "relief" after Kane dies, and was also sleeping with Lambert. This ~casual~ phenomenon is expanded a bit in Prometheus). Also, McClaren's gender is never specified, so I chose to make her female. Really, this whole fic is just plotless info-dumping and headcanons disguised as a story. I'm excited to jump headfirst into the world of Alien fic!
> 
> For the record, I don't actually believe Amanda died when Burke said she did. With the inclusion of Alien: Isolation into the canon, it means he was, at the very least, lying by omission. If Ellen had suspicions that Amanda was alive, she would try to find her, and Burke needed her on that ship. 66 is pretty young to die in present day, let alone the future (plus the canon flip-flops around on whether or not cancer is still incurable at the time). I like to think she was living peacefully and happily. It's not like the Company never lied to Ellen before...
> 
> Come talk about the Ripleys with me at lovelyleias.tumblr.com.


End file.
